


Mon Cher Ennemi

by your_bro_joe



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossfaction, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Enemies, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_bro_joe/pseuds/your_bro_joe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BLU Spy defeats RED Engineer, RED Engineer drowns his sorrows, BLU Spy takes him home, and the cycle begins anew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Yoooou sunuvabich,” Engineer slurs, pointing at the enemy Spy and swaying in his seat. It was likely inevitable that they’d run into each other tonight in the small town near Sawmill, but Engineer never thought it would be in the town’s lone bar. Spies didn’t seem like the type.

“Ah, not one second and already you are hurling insults, Laborer? I am disappointed,” Spy mutters, pulling out a cigarette. “I thought you of all pathetic REDs would be civilized off the battlefield.”

“You sapped… FOUR of my sentries last round, you slimy frog,” Engineer shoots back, holding up three fingers and lurching toward the Frenchman, “an’ three ah my dispensers. I ain’t gotta be civil ta _you_.” Stumbling toward the enemy, Engineer jabs a pointer finger into his chest. “And you stabbed me… a bunch! You low-down, dirty, yella-bellied… _French guy_!” he hiccups, poking the other man again for emphasis. Spy rolls his eyes, delicately taking that hand in his and putting it at Engineer’s side.

“I think you have had enough, petite. It is time for you to go home.”

“ _I’ll_ tell ya when I’ve had enough! I’ve—I’ve—” Engineer stops and stumbles, looking like he’s about to puke everywhere. Spy grimaces and takes a step back, but thankfully, the smaller man only belches. Spy sighs in frustration.

“Come, I will take you home,” he offers his hand. Engineer keeps his sour look, but finally relents, slapping the BLU’s hand away and stomping past.

“Fine. But no funny business this time, y’hear?” he grumbles as he pushes open the door to the bar.

“Of course not,” Spy smirks, knowing that Engineer knows he will ignore his request, and they will once again wake up in the back seat of Spy’s tiny French car.

Engineer slumps into the passenger seat of Spy’s Citroën DS convertible and watches Spy slide carefully into the driver’s seat. The top is down, which Engineer is grateful for when the cool night air breezes past his face on the way back to Sawmill. It’s lucky it isn’t raining for once, or else Spy wouldn’t have even let him put the windows down.

The drive is silent. Once they get close to the compound, Spy turns down a disused road in the woods. They can’t risk being seen together inside. Engineer will have to walk from here. Spy cuts the engine off, and they sit there for a few moments—Engineer unsure if he should move and Spy not about to make him. The shorter man shifts in his seat.

“Uh,” he starts. This is always the most awkward part; accepting help from the enemy makes him feel weak, but it’s a practical solution, to a practical problem. He still feels like a traitor, though, when he opens his mouth again. “Thanks fer the ride, Sp—”

“Are you going to leave or not?” Spy quips, stubbing out the butt of his cigarette in the car’s ashtray. His eyes fixate on a moth fluttering through the beam of the headlights.

“No,” Engineer says without thinking, then coughs—catches himself. “Not—not yet. I. Just. In a minute.”

“If you vomit in my car I will never do this for you again,” Spy intones. The leather of his gloves squeaks on the steering wheel.

“Yes you will,” Engineer whispers, and his left hand creeps onto the other man’s knee. It’s all downhill from there.

The roof of the car goes up and the two men tangle in the back seat, mouths hot and open to each other. Engineer tastes like cheap whiskey and Spy tastes like expensive cigarettes and it’s just like they remember—just like every time before. Engineer is on top, pulling on Spy’s suit jacket and the Frenchman has to wrench his hands away to keep him from ripping it; undresses himself as quickly as he can while the Texan unclips his own overalls and shucks them off.

Spy’s too tall to lay flat on the bench, and Engineer compromises by pushing the Frenchman’s legs up, clutching them below the knees and pushing them to Spy’s chest. He fumbles for a minute, and Spy growls, impatient. Engineer’s torn between embarrassment and laughter as he reaches down to pull a tin of grease out of his discarded overalls and sees Spy’s asshole pulsing in anticipation. They’re both beyond gentleness and Engineer bypasses preparation, slicks his cock and pushes in.

Spy moans at length, his mouth open wide and head tossed back. Engineer wants to rip his mask off but he knows better than that. It would upset the delicate balance they’ve reached. He doesn’t know what Spy’s face looks like. Spy doesn’t know what color Engineer’s eyes are. Engineer ignores his urge and pulls out, thrusts in, fucks Spy relentlessly as the taller man vocalizes his pleasure.

It doesn’t last long; it never does. Spy comes over his chest, the pearly cum sticking in his chest hair. Some stray drops land on his chin, and that gets Engineer off, pounding into that tight ass a few more times and grunting as he comes, buried balls-deep in his enemy.

Movements are slow as they ride out their afterglow, and Engineer’s soft cock eventually slips out. Spy sits up, stretching his stiff legs, and pulls another cigarette from his jacket pocket. He offers one to Engineer, who refuses, as always. The Texan sits with his back to the opposite door, watching Spy smoke in the dim moonlight.

“We ain’t doin’ this again,” Engineer says halfheartedly. Spy scoffs, smoke streaming in soft ribbons from his nose.

“Of course not,” he replies, looking out the windshield at the quiet forest.

It’s a lie. It always has been. When Spy’s cigarette is spent, they will lie together on the bench, and in the morning Engineer will stumble back to RED base and Spy will drive back to BLU’s. The next round, Spy will beat his record for buildings sapped and backs stabbed. Engineer will drink his sorrows, and Spy will take him home, and the dance will start anew.


	2. Chapter 2

Again, Spy and Engineer sit in the back seat of Spy’s car, Spy smoking his post-coital cigarette while Engineer watches him stare disinterestedly out the window. This is the part where Engineer assures him it’s the last time, where Spy agrees, and they do not speak until the next time. This is that part. But Engineer changes it with one word.

“Spy?” he calls quietly, and the Frenchman turns to him, raising an eyebrow.

“What is it?” Spy asks. Engineer fidgets.

“D’ya think, under different circumstances, we coulda been friends?”

Spy rolls his eyes. “Non,” he says in a puff of smoke, turning back to the window.

“What?”

“Under different circumstances I doubt we would have even met,” Spy shrugs. He glances back at the smaller man, who looks upset. If the look is supposed to make Spy feel bad for him, it isn’t working. “We have nothing in common. We work together, that is all.”

“Oh,” Engineer says softly, looking down at his hands in his lap. He suddenly feels very naked, poking his discarded clothing with the toe of his boot. He keeps expecting Spy to say something more, but he doesn’t.

“I was just… I was just thinkin’, maybe we could be fri—”

“You are drunk.”

“I ain’t _that_ drunk! I sobered up a little while ago. I just wanted t’ask you—”

“No.”

“Wh—” Engineer stutters, staring incredulously at the other man. Spy pays him no mind, blowing smoke rings, as if to mock him with his indifference. “Well, why the heck not?” the Texan finally bites out, and Spy turns to him, expression suddenly very serious.

“You cannot really be that naive. You know what happened to the Soldier and the Demoman, and they were merely friends. We are fucking. I like my job and would like to keep it,” Spy sneers. Engineer only crosses his arms in defiance.

“Our team’s Spy is sleepin’ with your team’s Scout’s ma,” he counters.

“Yes, with _his mother_ , not with _him_. It is good taunting material. The man has no intention of being the boy’s father,” Spy frowns. “What do you want from me? Every time we meet, you say it will be the last, and now you want to be friends? Stupide américain.”

“But ain’t’cha ever wondered why I keep comin’ back? Hasn’t that ever crossed yer mind?”

“I assumed you were a drunkard looking for a definite sexual encounter. Nothing more,” Spy shrugs, affecting his disenchanted attitude again, looking away.

“Well it ain’t like that. I… I like you. As a person, I mean. I was hopin’ we could be more’n’… ‘n _this_ ,” Engineer says sadly, gesturing at nothing.

“If it is a relationship you want, then I no longer want to be involved in this,” Spy says, stubbing out his cigarette, normally the signal for them to go to sleep.

“Spy,” Engineer pleads, but the taller man will hear none of it.

“Get out of my car,” he says, voice flat. Engineer stares at him for a few moments, stuttering out a response.

“F-F-Fine!” he shouts finally, picking up his clothing and opening the door, “You low-down snake in the grass. You enjoy bein’ alone then.”

Engineer slams the car door, dressing hurriedly while Spy looks in the opposite direction. Once the shorter man is far into the woods, Spy leans back, and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Merde.”


	3. Chapter 3

Spy lies on his bed, over the covers, completely naked. It is a cool night, and he has left the window open for the breeze that can feel at times like the breath of a lover. He stretches like a cat, rolling out the kinks in his shoulders and back, and runs a hand down his bare chest.

He is loathe to admit it, but he is lonely. And, doing what lonely people do, he takes advantage of the time by masturbating.

His hand moves from his chest down the flat plane of his stomach, then on to his limp cock. He caresses it lovingly, ghosting fingers over the head and pulling back the foreskin to give the sensitive organ more contact. It responds slowly, so he moves faster, tunneling his fist around the shaft and teasing the tip until he is fully erect.

As he strokes himself, he considers who else in the area would make a suitable lover. The Pyros and Demomen were right out, as both were incomprehensible, and though speaking was not a necessary part of his affairs, Spy did enjoy speaking to someone he could understand. The Heavies were too burly for his tastes, and likely involved with their respective Medics, which threw them out as well. The Soldiers hated the French and were madmen besides; the Scouts were obnoxious; the Snipers were filthy. It left only the enemy Spy, who was involved with the Scout’s mother, and their team’s Engineer, who was married. Spy frowned, losing some of his enthusiasm.

But teammates were not his only options. The was a town full of eligible men and women only a few miles away, and he could travel there any time he desired a late-night tryst. There was the pretty girl who sold flowers in the market, the rough but handsome bartender, the young widowed proprietor of the inn… His mind wanders as he imagines the multitude of lovers available to him, picturing each face in the throes of pleasure, over him, under him, beside him. His strokes become faster, more frenzied as he considers the roster, and suddenly his stomach clenches, followed by his chest as he comes to the thought of the RED Engineer.

Spy squeezes his eyes shut and bites his bottom lip as semen drips down the length of his softening cock, the image of Engineer still burned in his memory. Sighing deeply, he rakes a hand over his hair, then covers his face with it in shame. This was not supposed to happen. This has _never_ happened, in all his years of fucking for fun. It’s always been the same: woo them, sleep with them, and when they get clingy, leave them. That was what he had done with the Engineer. It was supposed to be a clean break. It was supposed to end here. But….

“Merde,” he murmurs again, too many times in such a short period. Moving his hand down to his chest, Spy stares up at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the concrete. Maybe it’s just too soon to be thinking about moving on. He’s never been so eager to find a new lover. Perhaps he just needs time. No, why would he need time? It was just business. It was just a tryst. There is nothing to get over.

Growling in frustration, he flips onto his stomach, pulling a pillow over his head. He just needs to sleep on it. Then he can move on. The night is too quiet and he is too susceptible to sentimentality. He just needs a good battle, a few good kills, and he will be right as rain.

He repeats this mantra to himself as he falls asleep, pointedly ignoring the fact that the only reason he wants to go into battle tomorrow is to see the Engineer again.


End file.
